


I Can't Say with Confidence

by citrusella



Series: Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection [4]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Corrupted Steven Universe, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Steven Universe Future Spoilers, Steven is corrupting and is afraid of letting the gems see and triggering traumatic memories, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella
Summary: Over an hour. He's been sitting in the tub, fully clothed, the bathroom amess… for over an hour.It should be working! Why isn’t it working?!
Series: Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518434
Comments: 15
Kudos: 316





	I Can't Say with Confidence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No, no, no…It should be working! Why isn’t it working?!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/542212) by Pyrale's Art Dump. 



> This was inspired by [this art on Tumblr](https://pyralart.tumblr.com/post/189635281234/no-no-noit-should-be-working-why-isnt-it), though seeing [this ask](https://pyralart.tumblr.com/post/189650219404/hey-so-i-just-wanted-to-make-sure-its-cool-that-i) made me actually go through with writing it. (That person who asked the question ended up posting a fic inspired by the same art [here](https://batinatrashcan.tumblr.com/post/189658035434/i-wrote-a-short-story), if you're interested in looking.)
> 
> Also, like, I wrote and revised this in way too few hours? Where is this drive when I'm trying to finish my works in progress, universe???? I must have really wanted to write something that's technically SUF related? ._.

_That used to be a loaded question, but now I can say with confidence that I'm Steven Universe!_

_I can say with confidence that I'm Steven Universe!_

_I'm Steven Universe!_

A knock knocks him out of his thoughts.

"Yo, Steven! You've been in there for over an hour, man! You alright?" Amethyst's raspy voice carries through the door so it can't be ignored even over his mind's unignorable rambling, and his eyes widen for a second before he manages to recover and respond.

"—Steven?"

"I'm fine! Just trying to get a nice bath in between all the… everything. You know?" he calls.

Not a lie. Technically.

Technically not a lie.

"Well… okay, man. Just let me know if you need anything. Or if you've—" she affects a dramatic, frail voice, "— _fallen and you can't get up!_ " She lets out a giggle. He sighs and forces out a giggle in return, straightening in the water.

"Wait, before you go? Could you, like, send a memo to let the Diamonds know we're out of their stuff so we need more vials?"

"Whoa, already? What are you doing, using 'em like that gamer girl meme?" Steven's brow furrows in confusion before what she's said clicks and he audibly shifts in the water.

"Gross, Amethyst! No! Geez! Ew! I've just… been dealing with a lot of corruption lately. So… I've just kind of… used it all?"

Technically not a lie.

Not a lie.

Technically.

Amethyst's tone changes ever so slightly, but she agrees to do it. "Dunno why you can't after you finish up in there or whatever, but if you really want me to… I guess I can?" He can hear the shrug in her voice, but he only lets the hitch in his breath go once her footsteps retreat, glad to have successfully thrown her off the trail of being _too_ concerned.

He slumps down in the tub, trying to relax.

Emphasis on the "trying". Minimization on the "relax".

He hadn't realized how long he'd been here until Amethyst had come to the door.

Over an hour. He's been sitting in the tub, fully clothed, the bathroom a _mess_ … for over an hour.

It was supposed to work.

Over an hour.

It _should_ be working!

_Over an hour._

Why isn't it working?!

**_Over an hour!_ **

No! No, no…

He places a hand over—almost _in_ —his mouth and runs the other through his hair, trying to ignore the fact that a few fingers seem to have turned to claws, that a spike has sprouted near his hairline, that the rest of him is probably due to follow before too long—

—Nope, no thinking like that, no matter _how easy it is_ —

A breath.

He had been fine this morning. Maybe this was all a bad dream? Maybe he'll wake up and it'll be morning for _real_ and the issues he needs to work out can be written on his mind and _not_ his face and he won't have to face the prospect of opening the bathroom door to the gems seeing him like _this_ , having to worry about _this_ again, facing _this_ trauma again, because really, the least he can do is try not to be a walking trigger, right?

_That used to be a loaded question,_

He looks to the sink and doesn't even have to directly tell himself how wrong he is. He'd run in and poured half a bottle of substance in the running sink before realizing he'd grabbed his cologne. He'd practically thrown it to the floor, cracking it beyond repair, before reaching for the bottles he'd actually wanted, trying his best to be careful, because you only need a little bit, right? He'd shoved his hand in first—nothing. Splashed his face—nothing.

And… well… that set him off. His hand going to the medicine cabinet—who _cared_ if the door got a good punch for being in the way?—dumping out whatever he thought might help, faucet handles turning until they're practically ripped off their mounts, a canister of _some_ thing flying up toward the light fixture and shattering it, an action that would have plunged the room into darkness if not for the shining sink water and the rapidly fading pink glow of a teenage boy gasping in horror at his own actions.

He's the definition of a trigger. A _hair_ trigger, that is.

_but now I can say with confidence that I'm Steven Universe!_

In the grand scheme of things, he's only had a little time to himself, to deal with his own issues, to not be viewed as Rose or Pink or _anything_ other than _Steven_ , but it's as if he hasn't even deserved that tiny, _tiny_ reprieve, because _this_? This _will_ mess up everyone around him, sending them back 6000 years, to a time when he wasn't even a twinkle in Mom's—Rose's—Pink's eye. He is _not_ going to be responsible for that, for dredging _that_ up, for re-hurting everyone in his life one more time.

He sinks further into the water. From this vantage point, almost eye level with much more water than the sink could ever hope to hold, it's clear the problem is him: against the brilliant blue, electric yellow, and intense white—the entire contents of each bottle because he was, _is_ , desperate—his pink, which is typically a fluorescent fuchsia, looks more like a highlighter that's been dragged across one too many pages of a textbook. Of _course_ it's not doing anything, because he's _not pulling his weight_.

His head drops below the surface, but it doesn't matter seeing as he's gone pink again, a state that, on some level, seems to afford him just a small bit of insurance against the pitfalls of being half-organic. He lets out a scream that he hopes, judging by the fact the tub isn't cracking or anything, won't escape the confines of the room. He doesn't know how long he does it, just _that_ he does it.

And just like that, it's over. The pink fades and he has to remember to shove his head above the surface quick, because drowning on Diamond water would be a _really embarrassing_ way to die.

Despite being covered in water, he wouldn't be able to hide the fact he's crying if he wasn't alone in here, even if he _weren't_ hugging himself and swallowing loud sobs so that they're _just_ quiet _enough_ that he's pretty sure no one outside will hear them.

He hates the idea of leaving, but he knows he'll have to eventually, or the gems will bust in. He _hates_ the idea of them knowing, but he knows they will eventually, because he will **have** to leave sooner or later. He **_hates_** that he turned pink because he found out the hard way the _first time_ that it just makes the whole thing worse and he can _feel_ it spreading again, so much _faster_ this time, _so fast_ that he wonders if, really, he'll make it long enough to _keep_ knowing he hates the idea of leaving, of them finding out, of turning pink and

_I'm Steven Universe!_

_I'm Steven_

_I'm_

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I might have gone with the title "Happy Don't Come Back Day" if that didn't sound like a bad horror movie Sadie would be proud to own. XD


End file.
